


Harder to Breathe

by monimala



Category: The Young and the Restless
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Paranormal, Slash, Supernatural Elements, harder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-01 06:05:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2762426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monimala/pseuds/monimala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Different races, different classes, night and day...it doesn’t matter. Sometimes there's no stopping what's meant to be.</p>
<p>A Harder paranormal AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_You drain me dry and make me wonder why I'm even here._

_The double vision I was seeing is finally clear._

_You want to stay but you know very well I want you gone._

_Not fit to fuckin' tread the ground that I am walking on._

-Maroon 5

 

The new hire was more sylph than vampire. Slender and slight, with eyes like perfectly cut diamonds. It wasn’t fair, how all gazes followed him when he walked across the squad room, how he didn’t have to try; he was just the center of attention regardless. The guy had been here less than a month and he had all the uniforms eating out of his pretty little hand. Vampires were all beautiful, of course. A genetic adaptation of their kind. Every single member of the First Families of Genoa City was as good-looking as they were powerful. Kevin Fisher was just the only one who’d deigned to work in the police station. A prince among men. A raven among wolves.

Literally, in this case.

Mark slouched in his chair, knowing it did nothing to diminish his size. If anything, it just made him look all the more surly and threatening. He knew that. Exploited it as often as possible. He took a long sip from his now-tepid coffee and watched Fisher’s fingers settle on the keys of his brand-new laptop computer. He’d brought it with him. The GCPD didn’t have the budget for new tech. The Families, of course, saw money as the least of their worries. What was a few thousand bucks for a fancy machine when you could live forever?

Wolves didn’t have those kinds of luxuries. Just scars. Especially rogues like him. Clanless. Unmated. Living as a human except when it came time to shift and to hunt. He was a detective, not a rich boy playing at work.

“Something wrong, Harding?” The rich boy in question had a voice full of laughter. Light. About as far from the Bela Lugosis of the world as you could imagine. The only indication of his lineage was the flash of fang against the pink of his lips.

“Yeah, your face.” It was grade-school as far as replies went, but the quickest thing he could come up with. He followed with a more grounded and growling, “I hate hackers. Don’t know why we needed you on payroll. It’s like hiring a fox to guard a hen house.”

Fisher’s eyebrows rose. Sharp slashes on his angular face. “You know a lot of foxes, Detective? What if you’re insulting a relative?”

 _Zing_. Mark huffed, slamming down his mug so hard he was surprised it didn’t shatter. He had to give it to the guy: In the short time he’d been here, he’d proven he could take whatever got dished out — cool as a cucumber, mockingly deferential to all the senior detectives and the chief. A little ribbing didn’t faze him. Neither did a shove or two into the lockers.

Mark still wanted him gone.

Mark still wanted him in general.

It was a clawing need in his gut, like the call of the wild. Something he’d recognized from the very first time their gazes had locked and battled. Different races, different classes, night and day...it didn’t matter. Every single one of his molecules believed that he and Kevin were the same.

He had just enough memories of his mother left to know what that meant. He could remember her soft whisper against his hair as she rocked him back and forth. “I won’t leave you,” she’d promised him, even as the cancer growing in her bones made her a liar. “And I can’t leave your dad. Even if I wanted to.” “Why, mama?” he’d asked her. So young and stupid. She’d laughed. Kissed his forehead. “Because I am him and he is me. Because we’re the same.”

The same. Maybe that was why, when she died eight months later, his dad turned into a mean son-of-a-bitch. Maybe that was why he drank. Why he hit. Because half of him had been ripped away. Every time Mark ducked a fist, every time he had to “man up” and “take it” and “be tough,” he’d promised himself he would never, _ever_ be mated. He’d moved out at sixteen. Joined the Academy at eighteen. And never looked back.

Until now. When all he could do was look. And get caught doing it.

**

The rogue wolf wanted to eat him. Kevin had concluded that almost four weeks ago, when he’d been pinned by those hostile dark eyes and his knuckles had nearly cracked under the pressure of a testosterone-laden handshake. Detective Mark Harding hadn’t been with the GCPD much longer than him — he’d transferred in from Chicago a year ago — but he had the demeanor and defensiveness of a lifer. He’d practically pissed a circle around the squad room. The air even smelled like him...woodsy and aggressive. He was big but lean. All shoulders and stubble and scowl. The beat cops were scared of him and Chief Williams, a mild-mannered and unflappable human, gave him a long leash.

“Oh, honey. He’s just a puppy,” Kevin’s sister-in-law liked to laugh when he complained over Family dinners. Ha. Not likely. Puppies were cute. Puppies were lovable and friendly. Puppies didn’t make the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

Very few creatures could rattle a vampire. There was a pecking order, and generally shifters fell below their kind. But nothing about Mark Harding said he was beneath Kevin. No, if anything, everything about him — from swagger to sneer — screamed that he would always be on top.

 _Fuck_. Kevin could picture that. Being under Harding. Pinned by more than just his gaze. He tasted blood and saliva, was glad for the cover of the desk as he subtly adjusted his fly over his erection. Vampires’ existences generally ran to the more sensual pursuits — it was why his brother and Lauren were always fucking like bunnies and why Families like the Newmans and Abbotts traded in spouses like cars — but having fantasies about someone who probably wanted to kill you was never wise.

Especially with Kevin’s track record — two ex-wives, one staked and the other institutionalized, and a human ex-boyfriend no one knew about. It was the human part his family would’ve objected to, of course. The First Families didn’t much care where you stuck your dick as long as it was in someone supernatural. Preferably a fellow vampire. Though a few people had broken the unofficial rule, the risk didn’t generally outweigh the reward.

Fortunately, Kevin was a born fuck-up. First Family or no, he’d never fallen in line. He wasn’t a corporate shark or a legal eagle. He was a techie. A computer geek. A hacker. A young man with a “certain skill set.” That he’d ended up working at the GCPD instead of a permanent guest in one of its cells was something that made his mother and stepfather inordinately happy.

Getting devoured by Detective Mark Harding one late night at the office...well, that wasn’t nearly as optimal.

Sure, technically, wolves didn’t eat vampires. But Harding didn’t look like the type of person who cared about societal rules or dietary restrictions. No. He looked like he picked his teeth with pixies and guzzled ghosts as easily as brewskies. Would he start by ripping Kevin’s arms off? Or would he bite? Part of Kevin really, really hoped he’d bite.

Maybe he didn’t have to be Mark’s dinner. Maybe he could be his dessert.

Maybe, just maybe, that risk would be rewarding.


	2. Chapter 2

On a good day, Chief Williams’ office was cozy, welcoming. Maybe he didn’t keep a plate of cookies on the corner of his desk, but he had a mini-fridge below it with everything from sparkling cider to blood bags — ready for a compassionate, warm heart-to-heart over your drink of choice. But not today. Today the room was cavernous and icy like a meat locker, and Kevin felt like a choice side of veal swinging back and forth next to the butcher.

 _Hell_. His visions of getting murdered by Harding were growing more grisly by the day. Not helped by the scowl on the detective’ face and how he took up the chair in which he sat like it was three seats on the Chicago El. He should’ve dwarfed the room, but it was the case the chief had laid out before them that did that. It made everything else small and cold.

“Nick and Sharon Newman’s daughter, Faith, has been missing for two hours. As with any potential child abduction, time is of the essence,” Williams reminded them, his jaw set and his normally friendly features grim. “I need you on the digital trail, Fisher.”

Kevin glanced down at the notes he’d tapped out on his tablet. “I don’t understand why she was on social media. She’s _eight_. Weren’t they monitoring her?” It was a rhetorical question. Her parents were going through a very public, very ugly custody battle. First Family Nick vs. blue-collar human Sharon. In cases like this, all the fighting over what was best for the kid inevitably ended up being what was the worst for them.

Harding made a sound of disgust. No doubt thinking Kevin was stupid for voicing any of his concerns aloud. And that drew the chief’s attention to him. “We’ve already had Forensics confiscate Nick’s laptop and go over the scene. But you know what to do, Detective: Shake the trees. Question the usual suspects.”

“How about I shake the usual suspects and question the trees?” Harding smiled, feral and all teeth. “Someone’s gotta do the real work while Fisher hacks to his little heart’s content.”

Chief Williams frowned, peering at them both over the rims of his glasses. “I need you two to work together on this. We have the most powerful Family in Genoa City breathing down our necks — so to speak — and we cannot afford to drop the ball here. Victor Newman could shut down this department in a heartbeat if he thought we botched his granddaughter’s case. The last thing I need is tension on my team.”

Kevin forced himself to grin. More earnest and winsome than Harding’s attempt at the expression. “There’s no tension, Sir,” he assured as he rose from his seat. “You know Detective Harding. He just likes to bust my balls. We’re going to be fine. We’ll get you what you need and get Faith home to her parents.”

Of course the good detective couldn’t leave it at that. He had to chime in, “As long as the little prince here remembers who’s in charge,” and cast Kevin a sidelong glance. One that spoke eloquently about his exact methods of ball busting. It inspired equal parts fear and arousal.

Fortunately, Chief Williams wasn’t having any of it. “ _I’m_ in charge,” he said, firmly, before dismissing them both with a tilt of his head.

Kevin beat a hasty path back to his laptop, a dozen hacks already active in his mind even before his fingers hit the keys. Faith Newman. Poor kid. He could not only imagine what her parents were going through, he could understand. He was an uncle, and he’d been something like a father figure to Chloe’s little girl, Delia, for the hot minute they’d been married. The pain of losing a child for even a minute had to be excruciating. But there were dozens of other little girls who didn’t have police investigations into their disappearances opened after just two hours. He knew that, too. An Amber Alert hadn’t even been issued yet. Just a First Family edict.

It was no exaggeration that Victor Newman could shut down the GCPD. The oldest, most powerful, vampire in the northwest, he practically owned the entire town. Kevin’s Family was new blood, new money. Nowhere near on the same scale and only accepted in the best and highest society circles because his brother Michael was an absolute badass in the courtroom and the boardroom. Harding called him a “prince,” but Kevin barely qualified…and he was way more comfortable in a squad room than a boardroom.

If you could call fearing for his life or getting hard every time a certain werewolf looked at him “comfortable.” Speaking of which…

“Hey. Fisher.” Harding’s voice rumbled like thunder, and his presence…well, that was the rain. Relentless. Everywhere. Surrounding Kevin, drowning his desk. “We gonna work on this or what?”

“I thought me and my little heart were going to do that right here.” He gestured to his computer and his tablet, settled amidst a pile of papers and a coffee mug declaring, ‘Real vampires don’t sparkle.’ “You know, while you go do the real work.”  

The detective just stood there, hip cocked, shoulders no less imposing for their habitual slouch. His brows winged together in dark disapproval and his mouth wore a sullen sneer. There was always something animal about him, something wild. “Last I checked, laptops don’t weigh a brick anymore. That means you can ride shotgun.”

Was it Kevin’s imagination or did he linger on the word ‘ride’?

He didn’t let himself ponder the question for too long. He just gathered his things and followed the wolf out the door.

**

The station-issue SUV wasn’t big enough for the two of them. It could probably hold a high-school soccer team, but it was practically a broom closet with Kevin in the passenger seat, his shiny computer open on his knees. Just like in the chief’s office, Mark was painfully aware of him. How he smelled like winter and copper. How there were dimpled hollows in his cheeks even when he wasn’t smiling. How he was lean and slight everywhere Mark was big and ungainly. How he could do things with technology that would never make sense to a beast.

Mark wasn’t stupid. Police work had stopped being about just the footwork a long time ago. Digital crime was huge. Child trafficking happened just as much online as off. And everybody left a trail. The kind he couldn’t scent, but Kevin Fisher could.

He covered the envy, and the ever-present need, with gruff shoptalk. “We’ve got the go-ahead to set up a base of operations at Sharon Newman’s. She’s already got a few uniforms over there. It’s the likely place for the kid to return if she wandered off on her own. And where any ransom calls might come in. I don’t want to go for a trace yet, but we’ve got the green light for that, too.”  

“Uh-huh. Got it.” Kevin nodded like he was listening, but his eyes were glued to his screen. They’d barely pulled out of the parking lot before he accessed Faith’s GBook account and her Chatter — “She likes ponies, princesses, goth and steampunk” —  and now he was tracking through her friends and favorites. Whatever that meant. 

It was a world Mark didn’t understand — make that _another_ world he didn’t understand. Give him cold facts. Give him quarry. Those were things he could manage. With the combination of the two, and Kevin’s skills, maybe he could bring a little kid home to her family.

He needed a victory. He needed something. Anything besides the pull that was getting bigger and tighter and more insistent with each passing day. _He’s yours_ , the animal inside him whispered. _Claim him. Mate him._ So many stupid, unrealistic, hormonal things that fucked with his head. The past few weeks had been torture. Dozens of cold showers, running at midnight in his fur…none of it did anything to diminish that his biological clock was howling for a vampire who’d probably break in half beneath him.    

The vampire who was next to him now. Winter and copper and… “Fuck. Tell me you’ve got something, Fisher.” It was abrupt. Caustic. They were almost at the turn for the Newman house. But Mark didn’t know how to be anything but defensive and angry when he was this on edge.  

Finally, Kevin’s pale green eyes swung toward him, like a pair of searchlights. “Whoa. Relax, Harding,” he said, a high note of concern in his voice. “Hacking is a delicate art, not a smash-and-grab.”

“I’m not sure we have time for delicacy. Faith Newman’s life could be at stake.” He gripped the steering wheel with claw-tipped fingers, tried to keep his foot from stabbing right through the gas pedal.

He knew he was out of line. After all, he’d _asked_ for the company. Practically demanded it. Initially, he’d considered asserting his authority, throwing his weight around and being a general pain in the ass. You know, the usual squad room bullshit of a detective vs. a techie. But now Mark understood that something else was at play. It was darker. It was deeper. Impossible to control.

He couldn’t let Kevin out of his sight.

Because the only thing worse than having him too close was not having him at all.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Something was wrong with Harding.

What Kevin had originally categorized as workplace hostility mixed with a few dollops of homicidal intent was quickly turning out to be something else entirely. As they set up stations in Sharon Newman’s living room, it was muted — less intense than whatever had come over the detective in the car — but it still rolled from his skin in waves. An intensity, a disquiet, like he was struggling to hold off a shift.

Every once in a while, he would look up from his cell phone or pause mid-conversation with Sharon, a nervous but pretty blonde in her early 40s, and zero in on Kevin like he was the only person in the room. At some points it seemed to make him angrier, at others, more calm. But, still, he did it. Pacing around the room, giving surprisingly even-handed assurances to the swaggering and judgmental Nick Newman, but always coming back to Kevin. Like a touchstone.  

Vampires had similar reactions after going long periods without feeding. Kevin’s biological father, an unapologetic psychopath and abuser, had loved to lock him in closets for days without blood. Years later, but never far removed, he could still remember the dizziness, the hallucinations, and the fear. _Don’t leave me in here. Please. I’m scared. Let me go._

Badass Detective Mark Harding was — in some weird, primal, way — telling Kevin, “Don’t leave me alone.”  

Regardless of who was in charge, it was an order he could and would follow.

He could protect Harding. And together they could hopefully protect Faith.

He sighed, swiveling away from his screen, where the program he’d written to track every local hit on Faith’s social media accounts was nearing completion. As he’d explained to her frantic parents, her chats and statuses were pretty clean. Nothing to worry about. She hadn’t talked to any creeps online and agreed to meet one. However, her accounts weren’t locked and — like any kid with no cares in the world — she was open about where she lived and what she liked to do…which meant creepers could still find her on their own without much trouble.

Of course, Nick Newman was pretty convinced that, no matter what had actually happened, it was his ex-wife’s fault. He’d been pointy-fingered about it for the last forty-eight minutes. Kevin was almost impressed by the sheer endurance of his arrogance. He was built more like a wolf than a vampire, solid and shaggy haired, but his attitude was pure First Family. He owned this house, he owned this room, and he owned everything in it except culpability.  

Watching Harding go toe-to-toe with him was highly entertaining. The detective was _almost_ deferential — the kind of polite that was laced with “I can barely tolerate you” and “Please shut up so I can do my job.” He didn’t seem murderous or volatile. That was apparently something he reserved just for Kevin. With Newman, he was reined in and a step shy of condescending.

“Your daughter could have disappeared from school, from the park, from the coffeehouse,” he reminded. “The blame doesn’t live under this roof.” He pointedly looked at the Newmans’ older children, twentysomethings Mariah and Noah, who’d more or less stayed out of the way of the investigation. “Unless you want to throw Faith’s sister and brother under the bus, too.”

“No.” Nick exhaled, dragging his hands through his hair and offering an apologetic look to his kids, if not his beleaguered ex. “I…I don’t blame you guys. I’m sorry. I know you wouldn’t let anything happen to Faith.”

“Gee, thanks.” Kevin knew Mariah from around town, and her sarcasm was an obvious cover for distress. “How about you save some of that compassion for Mom?” Her brother squeezed her arm in warning, while Sharon just gave her a watery smile.

Harding swore under his breath as the drama continued, skirting the epicenter that was the couch and coming toward the table where Kevin was set up. “First Family bullshit,” he spat, scrubbing at his face with the back of his hand.

“ _Any_ family bullshit.” Kevin couldn’t help but laugh, even though the situation was far from funny. “Trouble should bring you together, but all it does is expose all your raw nerves and tear you apart.”

The detective’s eyes went dark and heavy-lidded. His lip curled. “Yeah? What would you know about being _exposed_ , Fisher?”

There was no mistaking the inflection this time. The sensual side of his nature caught the key word, accepted the bait. Flirting was as easy as breathing. “Maybe someday you’ll find out.”  

Harding inhaled. Exhaled. Kevin watched his chest rise and fall under the tight expanse of his gray henley, and then he looked up. Their gazes locked and held.

 _Don’t leave me alone_.

“I’m here,” Kevin murmured. “I’m not going anywhere. So just ask.” 

**

 _I’m here. Just ask_.

He turned the words over and over in his head for the rest of the hour. A taut, tense, emotional hour. Nick Newman kept yelling. Sharon Newman kept crying. Their non-missing kids mediated, bickered and then offered to go search their places of business one more time. For which every cop in the room was grateful. Less distraction meant more focus. 

Only Mark knew full well that his focus was split. Even as he finished questioning the just-summoned groundskeepers — they had _groundskeepers_ , for fuck’s sake — and the housekeeper who came in three times a week, he was aware of Kevin. Hunched over his laptop, occasionally muttering and running his fingers through his already spiky and ruffled dark hair. Even here, amongst his own kind, he seemed otherworldly.    

But he’d extended an invite into that world, hadn’t he? Opened the door. Extended the circle. And whenever Mark felt the back of his neck get too tight, the rush of fur under his skin grow too demanding, he came back to the threshold. He breathed easier with every circuit. Remembered a little more of himself every time they looked at each other. The exact opposite sensation from the last few weeks, when his hunger and fury had ratcheted to nearly unmanageable levels whenever they passed each other in the squad room.

He couldn’t explain it, had only the barest notions of why it was different now. Something about consent. About being accepted and understood. His reactions were changing on a chemical level because Kevin Fisher had let him in.

Fate. That was what his mother would’ve told him had she lived to see him grown. _You’ll know when you find it, Mark. Your body will know, your soul will know and your wolf will know._

His wolf was an idiot that knew nothing. His cock was another story, inconveniently hard under the shirt he’d discreetly un-tucked and begging him to find release in Kevin’s pretty mouth. And he couldn’t listen to either thing until after they put this case to bed.  

They were going on hour four of Faith’s vanishing act. No leads, physical or digital.

“Ugh.” Kevin pushed away from the desk, massaging his temples with his fingertips. “Maybe she fell in a well.”

Mark barked out a laugh. Tension radiated out from his neck through his shoulder blades and he rolled his head to try and crack some of the knots. “Is that your way of implying I’m Lassie and I should go find her?”

“It’s not the worst idea.” A teasing smile tugged at the hacker’s lips…and he had to look away before he launched himself at Kevin and swallowed that smile up. “But I’m serious. Two-mile radius. Check of all open manholes, etcetera.”

“You think I haven’t thought of that? This ain’t a penny-ante operation, Fisher.” Normally, this would be where he snarled. Where he got defensive and aggressive. But he found himself explaining in low, rational tones, “We had the beat boys on it thirty minutes ago. Canvassed half the town. They turned up dick.” Because he didn’t _want_ to lash out at Kevin over things neither of them could control. Was that progress? They couldn’t find a little girl, but at least they could find middle ground?

Kevin sighed, casting a furtive glance over at Nick and Sharon, who were still arguing over blame and twenty years of relationship baggage. No shock there. “You know what? I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s hiding from them, and she’ll come back when she’s good and ready.” His expression was equal parts rueful and knowing. And a hundred percent attractive. “I mean, I don’t know about you, but when I was a kid, sometimes running away was all I had.”

He couldn’t picture it. Not really. This beautiful, privileged vampire trying to avoid blows or burrowing under pillows and blankets to block out the yelling. They couldn’t possibly have that in common, too, could they? But his wild side hated the concept in totality and didn’t even want to consider it. His fur bristled up beneath his clothes, and the wolf whined to be let loose…to tear into whoever had hurt Kevin so long ago. _I will kill anyone who touches you. I will break their bones and suck out the marrow_.     

Mark closed his eyes and drew in a long, calming breath. _Several_ breaths. He tasted Kevin’s clean, copper scent on the air and sensed him close even before the cool palm slid around the back of his neck and squeezed soothingly. _Shh_ , Kevin’s stroking fingers told him, _I’m here. I’ve got you._ When he dared to look, it was down into curious, concerned, moss-green eyes. He could barely trust his voice, and it sounded raw and rough to his own ears when he finally spoke.

“Yeah? Then maybe we need to give her something to run _toward_.”    

He was only just beginning to realize how important that was.

Because Kevin was, without any hesitation, offering it to him.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When you could sense everything, there was no hiding anything._

Afternoon turned into evening with no sign of Faith. Kevin could barely swallow the frustration that came with the mug of blood Sharon pressed into his hands. The faint lines around her eyes and mouth were tight with stress, but her eyes were still brimming with positive thinking. “I know you're doing all you can,” she said, gently, even though he wasn't the one who needed the comfort right now.

Per his and Harding's advice, she and Nick had reined in the yelling. They'd, shockingly, been cordial to each other for almost a half hour, restricting themselves to murmurs and memories of their daughter's past high jinks. And their calm had calmed Harding, too. Sort of like how a golden retriever was highly attuned to its owners’ moods. Not that the detective would appreciate the comparison...and Kevin wasn't planning to share it. Nor could he share the blood, which reenergized him almost from the moment it hit his tongue. Harding had turned down the offer of coffee, claiming he was already hopped up on too much. But Kevin knew he had to be hungry, had to be itching to shift and hunt.

He'd had a rough day. They'd all had a rough day.

And it was about to get worse. The chief had called to warn them that Victor Newman was on his way over from his corporate headquarters. Heads were going to roll. Kevin, being rather fond of his own, was praying to all the dark gods that Faith would somehow turn up before her grandfather did. He was the First of the Firsts. Other Families like the Abbotts, the Winters, the Chancellors…they fell into line behind Victor, whose word was practically law.

Kevin suppressed a shudder, closing his laptop, rising from his makeshift work station and joining Harding, who was loitering by the door…clearly planning on making another loop of the grounds before judgment rained down upon them. “…and radio in if you see _anything_ ,” he was telling a couple of uniforms before practically shoving them outside. And then he zeroed in on Kevin with that unerring focus. The prickly energy that had crackled between them in the car combined with something else, something new.

“What do you say, Fisher? Wanna do this with me? One last look?” The question would’ve shocked the Hell out of him a day or two ago, but now he took it in stride. They’d come to an understanding. A _weird_ understanding, but still. There was trust here. A silent deal they’d made. And he could still feel the soft skin at Harding’s nape under his fingertips, and hear the beat of his heart slowing as the beast went quiet.       

”Sure.” He cocked his head, grinning, hoping the sudden jump of his own pulse wasn’t so obvious. “Can you keep up with me, old man?”

“Who are you calling old, little prince?” Harding’s eyes lit up. “Wolves have stamina for _days_.” There was no question that he was flirting again. Because ‘stamina’ conjured up all the right images — wrong for the moment, but right for _later_ , for _soon_ — of them stripped down in the woods, skin to skin, on hour six of tantric fucking.

Kevin sucked in a shaky breath, sliding past Harding and out onto the porch. So only the encroaching night could see how hard he’d gotten. When he looked back on this week, he knew the time was going to be marked by the number of his inappropriate erections.

The heavy oak front door clicked shut, and he could feel the wall of werewolf behind him. Power and strength and aura and arousal. That was the problem with belonging to supernatural races: When you could sense everything, there was no hiding anything. Maybe Harding hated him, but he also wanted him. And Kevin was up for that. Down for that. Any way you served it, he’d take it. For his kind, sex was as much of a rush as blood. And just the promise of it sent vibrations across the surface of his skin and pulled his fangs up from his gums. 

They both felt it, of course. There was no stopping that.

“ _Fuck_.” Harding leaned forward enough to press his mouth just below Kevin’s ear. A kiss but not a kiss. Just like the arm that banded across Kevin’s waist was a hug but not a hug. “Turn off your First Family pheromones,” he ordered, thickly. “I can’t think when you’re like this.”

He didn’t know what demon made him take Harding’s hand and slide it south, spreading it over the button-fly of his jeans. A crazy demon. A wonderful demon. Or maybe just one that really, really wanted to get laid. “I can’t think when I’m like _this_ ,” he countered, grinding his dick into the curve of Harding’s fingers and the warmth of his palm.

Forget “later.” Forget “soon.”

Heads were going to roll tonight one way or another. 

**

Vampires were going to be the death of him. Mark knew that with complete and utter certainty. And one vampire in particular was leading the charge, rubbing his sweet cock all over Mark’s hand, the thin denim of his jeans doing nothing to disguise how hard he was. Hard and throbbing and wanting. “I can’t turn this off,” Kevin murmured. “There’s no switch.”

They were in plain view of the driveway. With a whole house full of people right behind them. They didn’t have these minutes to spare, to waste. But his wolf didn’t care, and neither did Kevin’s hunger. The day’s tension had spiraled up between them into this. Light flirtation turned into dark and heavy need. He could take him right here. On the old-fashioned swing or bent over the split-log railing.   

“Fuck” was an understatement, but he said it again, muffling his words against the pale line of Kevin’s throat. “Fuck, this is _not_ the time.”  

“I know.” The reply was caught and tangled in a moan. The sexiest sound Mark had ever heard. Just like the lean, slight body curling into his was the sexiest thing he’d ever felt. They _fit_. That was the Hell of it. The Hell and the Heaven of it. “G-give me a minute,” Kevin pleaded, quietly. “Just a minute.”  

He wanted to give him forever. An eternity. And his animal was tired of waiting. His fur rippled up, and he felt his mouth begin to bend and re-shape. His clothes tightened, seams ready to burst against his shifted muscles. “Kevin,” he growled, as the red haze of the beast dropped over his eyes and the hand cupping Kevin’s beautiful cock became a claw. “We don’t have a minute.”

“Okay.” With a swiftness that defied his reluctance of seconds before, the vampire pulled away and danced down the steps. There was no fear in him. No worry. No disgust. As if he got felt up by half-shifted wolves every day. His face was full of veins and bones, the physical manifestation of his own monster, but his eyes were the same mischievous, mortal green. “It’s okay, Harding,” he assured, while Mark’s back bowed with the change and he wrote off another set of clothes as a loss. “You can run. I’ll follow. I’ll _always_ follow.”

Shifting was equal parts pain and pleasure — the crack of bones, the reformation of flesh and skin — but the end result was always a sense of rightness, of belonging. This was his true form, this four-legged creature that cleared the short flight of stairs with one leap and landed on the lawn. A massive dark gray wolf with a man’s capacity for reason. He saw the night differently, heard the snap of every twig and the chatter of every mouse and vole, but he knew his mission and his companion, too. Kevin’s scent was his own scent now, rich and earthy and wild. _Mine_ , he wanted to say, but only barked instead.      

“Come on, Lassie.” Kevin laughed, reaching down to pat the fur at his ruff. “Let’s go find Faith.”

Whether or not they found Faith, Mark knew one thing: He’d already found hope.


End file.
